WHO: Dante & Gerald Avery WHAT: Son has some things to tell his dad about their future. WHEN: backdated to Jan 20 or so WHERE: The Avery home! WARNINGS: No, actually!
The Oxford sun fell in pale slats, warming the studio where Gerald sat before a large canvas. Still chiefly blank, it did however hold the outline of the painter’s intended subject. A young wizard in his prime, boot on the neck of an unseen assailant, triumphant in victory. He flicked his wand toward a jar of linseed oil and his brush washed through it dutifully before landing in his hand.
Then, mixing blue and red, adding minute flecks of black, he began to prepare a colour wash to prepare the canvas. Somewhere behind him, Odin stretched and slunk forward, hooking Gerald’s pant leg with his claw to indicate that they were not alone.
“Come in, son,” he said without taking his eyes from the easel. “Have a seat.”
How did his father always know? Dante wondered. It was like he had an extra sense for the whereabouts and well being of his children. (Was he going to be like that one day?)
He hadn’t wanted to interrupt his father’s painting, but they did need to talk. He slowly lowered himself into the chair next to him. “It’s powerful,” he started, nodding towards the canvas. “I think it’ll be popular.”
“ … we need powerful symbolism now, more than ever,” Gerald said agreeably, picking up his wand to spell the brush to do the rest of the colour wash so he could turn and fix his attention on his son.
“It isn’t often you come into the studio without something on your mind.”
His father was right: they did need symbolism. It wasn’t enough to force people into submission. They needed the people to see what they saw. To believe.
And he was right about Dante’s motives for being there. He didn’t typically bother his father when he was painting. He watched, from afar, but he didn’t like to interrupt. It was not a normal day, however. “I need to tell you something,” he began, deciding it best to be blunt. “There’s …” The only trouble is he didn’t know how to say it. “You’re going to be a grandfather.” Maybe phrasing it that way would soften the blow.
The brush stopped abruptly and clattered to the rug, making Odin growl and scatter. Gerald’s brow arched as he considered his son and his words. He thought - briefly - about simply pulling the truth from him through Legilimency. It would make the process so much less painful.
But in the absence of speed, Gerald chose being a father to Dante. He smiled.
“Tell me more.”
The smile was encouraging. “Don’t worry,” Dante continued quickly. “She’s pure. I’m not stupid.” Just in case he was thinking it - which Dante wouldn’t be surprised by.
The other details - who, when - were all more uncomfortable to explain, considering the families involved. “She’s … you know Val’s friend, Violet.” Dante tensed, already anticipating - what, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t expect it would be great.
“ … Slughorn,” he said contemplatively. A pureblood family. But one that hadn’t dedicated themselves to the cause or managed to do much beyond exist without being too terribly notable. Horace had, at least, been a favourite of Tom’s.
“Are you marrying her?”
Marrying. Dante almost choked on his words. Violet was all of -- twenty one? Twenty two? He wasn’t sure.
But he didn’t want to seem against the idea entirely if that was what their families wanted for them. “We hadn’t discussed that.” It was the truth. She’d gotten as far as informing him of the pregnancy before his brain shut off. It might have been the right thing to do, to marry her before the child was born, but Dante wasn’t keen to be forced into an arrangement like that just for a child. Or at all. “I barely know her.”
“That’s nothing. I met your mother at a family ritual, then two years later your grandparents bought her for me.” Gerald shrugged. This generation seemed obsessed with some kind of Muggle-driven cinematic love story. He didn’t fault Dante. It just was.
“At any rate, we should discuss the child’s future with Violet and her parents.” He paused for effect, waiting for his son to nod his assent. But before he got through the entire process, his mouth opened.
“Isn’t she … 21? Or thereabouts?” A raised brow.
That was about what he’d expected to hear from his father - that knowing someone didn’t matter, that he’d want to discuss the situation with Violet and her family. Dante was sure he could make an arrangement like his father’s work, but he wanted to at least know he didn’t hate his bride’s company beforehand. He didn’t expect much more than that anymore. Once, he might have hoped for love. Now, he just wanted to focus on other things. And he had no idea what she thought about it.
Dante shrugged. “Yes.” He waited a moment. He wanted to ask if it was a problem. “I didn’t anticipate… a relationship, when we spent time together.” He was trying to be delicate about what had happened, but it probably made it sound worse. “She was in Val’s year.”
He blinked. “My boy, I didn’t mean to suggest you marry her. I don’t give a hang about your vows. That’s up to you.” After all, Gerald considered himself quite progressive. “But if you choose otherwise, I’ll have the baby legitimized. Who knows if you’ll do it a second time.”
“Oh.” Dante had assumed his father would want that — he had, after all, spent a lot of time dropping suggestions about wanting his son to marry — so he was genuinely taken aback. Was it just enough to have a grandchild, Dante wondered, an heir? Or heiress?
His surprise meant he didn’t focus much on his father saying he might not do it a second time at first. It felt like a sharp dig at him, but it wasn’t inaccurate. Dante wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“I’ll want it to have our name, one way or another. As long as she agrees to that…” He couldn’t see any problems, outside of that, and even that she should be expecting. “I’ll fight for that if I have to.”
“Then you know what you have to do, Dante.” He said it mildly, as if this request were unfathomably reasonable. He even returned to his canvas, respelling the brush to finish its paint wash. Odin, from the corners of the studio, slunk forward and rubbed his hairy form against Dante’s leg.
“You have to convince her.”
There was something ominous about the way his father spoke, even though his tone wasn’t threatening in the least. Dante reached down to scratch the cat behind the ears.
“I will,” he insisted. He hadn’t asked for this - hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t expected it - but now that it was a reality, he’d do what he had to do to ensure his father got what he wanted. What they both wanted, because if it really was his, he wasn’t going to be absent in the child’s life.
With his father’s attention back on the painting, it felt like the conversation was over. “Are you happy?”
“That depends on the results,” he said. This was meant to be ominous and he punctuated it by slowing the paint wash with a smart tap of his wand.
“Please make me happy, Dante.”
“I will, Father.” He hoped he would, at least. He would try. He’d been trying his whole life, to no avail (or so it felt). He wanted his father to be proud of him now, even if the circumstances weren’t what they’d anticipated.
Dante wasn’t sure what else to say, or if his father even wanted him to stay, so he rose from the chair. “I’ll leave you be, then.”
But Odin bounded from his place at Gerald’s side to jump on Dante’s lap and bear him down into the seat once again. It was so seldom that son visited father that Dante was about to be peppered with another line of questions.
“You’ve found the assailant of my painting? We should kill them together. It would make for good bonding. After all, you have a baby coming and it is always important to keep your elders close. I would also like to start a Hooter.”
Dante knew better than to question the cat’s motives, so he complied. “I haven’t -” he started, but then he gave the idea more thought. He didn’t want to look unwilling, or more like a failure, particularly when his father was reaching out. His father wanted to do something together.
“I was thinking,” he began again, “that we could kill someone for every week that the assailant fails to come forward. It’s quite obviously the Order or someone associated with them. They should know it’s their fault. No one has to die, but people will because of them.”
“If we execute this plan, does that mean that we will need to come out as Death Eaters?” he asked his son cautiously, waiting to see what the younger Avery would propose. “Because I think it has superb merit.” In fact, a half-finished wizard in a canvas on an additional easel offered him a round of applause.
“How shall we level our demands?”
“Everyone already knows what I am,” Dante reminded his father. Everyone probably suspected the same of Gerald, simply based on the family ties.
He thought about Valkyrie, who already had to navigate having her older brother outed. Was it too early for their father to go there, too? Were they secure enough?
But his father seemed to like the idea, which filled Dante with a sense of pride he hadn’t felt in a while. “You could hoot about it.” The suggestion wasn’t all that serious, but maybe… “Send photos to the Order. I could show you.”
“I am open to Hooter. I can watch you young ones and how you communicate via technological channels …” And any way to help further the Dark Lord’s maxims were ways that Gerald was willing to entertain.
“I shall be your student.”
“I think you’ll find it’s a useful way to reach a larger audience,” Dante explained, though he absolutely hated the inclusion of Muggle technology in their world. But considering how rampant it was, it would be foolish of them to not take advantage. “You’ll make an impact. I know you will.”
And maybe, Dante thought, he wasn’t such a disappointment of a son after all.
“That’s kind of you.” Gerald liked to think he understood the Winternet better than his contemporaries. However, the truth was he longed for a time when he didn’t have to utilize it. And after the Dark Lord’s total victory he would happily abolish the Winternet from existence. Perhaps even before.
He smiled. “I will with your help. The Order can’t abide purported innocence destroyed. Well that they show us their weaknesses.”
Dante’s smile widened. It felt good -- no, it felt incredible -- to be included in his father’s life like this, like they were partners.
He couldn’t move due to the enormous cat on his lap (and he was unwilling to risk drawing Odin’s wrath), so instead he summoned one of their house elves. “This calls for a celebration.” He imagined pouring them glasses of one of their old bottles of ice wine; what better way to toast to a new life in their line? He still had dozens of concerns swimming through his mind, but for the moment, he could concentrate on one important thing: his father’s smile.